Saying Goodbye
by lilidelafield
Summary: What is wrong with Napoleon Solo? Illya follows his friend, determined to be there for him in his hour of need.


Illya glanced worriedly at his partner. He had spoken very little all day. He had received the telephone call at headquarters, and his face had turned as **_white_** as a sheet. Illya had immediately feared for him, wondering what had happened.

Napoleon had spoken to Mister Waverly, something urgent had come up and he had to leave town right away, and Waverly had agreed. Illya had requested leave to join his partner, because Napoleon had never looked like that before. Napoleon's tanned complexion, and his cheerful smile were all so constant and familiar, it was as if they were painted on. This Napoleon looked…Illya was at a loss to find a word in English to describe it, because _shocked_ seemed too inadequate. _Shattered_ might have come closer. Waverly seemed almost relieved to let Illya go along with him. Clearly, Napoleon's unnaturally pale features were worrying him too.

Napoleon had shown no surprise when Illya informed him that he would be coming along. He had merely nodded and opened the car door for him as automatically as if Illya had been a female. It took no more than twenty minutes of observation for Illya to surmise that they were driving to Napoleon's home.

"What has happened, my friend?"

Napoleon had not responded, and Illya had been unwilling to push him. Napoleon would talk when he was ready, or not at all. Whatever happened, Illya would be there when he needed him. He could sit in the car and wait if his partner needed privacy with his family. To his surprise, however, they turned off the freeway ten miles before they would have if they had been heading for the Solo Farm.

Illya glanced at his partner silently. Napoleon's face was, if possible, paler still, and grim, and Illya noticed that Napoleon's hands had started to **_shake_** slightly.

"Napoleon, when we arrive at our destination, you must tell me if you wish me to wait here in the car."

Napoleon started, as though he had forgotten that Illya was there. And he shook his head.

"Illya." He said, his voice sounding strained. "Sorry, I've been…look, thank you for coming. I would appreciate it if you would come inside with me…"

Illya nodded and said no more. He watched as Napoleon pulled into a wide driveway, and recognized it as a private hospital. Napoleon parked the car and Illya followed him into the main entrance. He noted how the receptionist greeted him by name. Napoleon nodded in response and headed down an adjacent corridor, Illya following a few steps behind.

They entered a large, airy room filled with a single bed and a lot of equipment. Some of the machines were attached in some way to the individual lying in the bed. Illya stood inside the door. The figure in the bed moved slightly, and Napoleon was there in an instant. Knelt beside the bed and took a weak hand in his own.

"John, it's me. I'm here."

"'Poleon? S'you?"

"It's me John. How are you doing?"

"You were nearly too late, 'Poleon. You were always late."

"Nothing changes, my friend."

Napoleon glanced back towards the door, where Illya stood silently, his face full of compassion. He waved an inclusive arm, to beckon Illya to come closer.

"John, this is Illya."

The elderly man in the bed looked at the newcomer and held out his hand. Illya took it gently, and crouched by Napoleon's side.

"Illya Kuryakin. Is good to meet you, sir."

Napoleon, still feasting his eyes on the old man, spoke in a low voice.

"Illya, this is John Freeman. He was my first official partner at UNCLE. He taught me…everything. He saved my life many times in the field."

John smiled weakly.

"Saving`Poleon's life is a full-time job in itself. You are his partner?"

Illya nodded and John glanced at Napoleon.

"Can you get my notebook, son? On the nightstand?"

Napoleon reached for John's coveted little red book and to his surprise, John handed it to Illya.

"This is my record of my time in the field with `Poleon. All my tricks are in there, Most of my secrets. If you want your partnership to last a long time, you will find it useful."

Highly honoured, Illya took the book, his face flushed.

"I am honoured. Thank-you, John. I will study it well."

John nodded and turned his gaze back to Napoleon. When he spoke, it was evident that he was getting very much weaker.

"I know you were hoping to get that book, son, but your partner will need it more than you. I don't know if there is a heaven, or what the truth of eternity will be, but whatever it is, I don't want you joining me until you are an old man like me. Goodbye son."

Illya crossed to the other side of the bed and took the old man's other hand and held it enwrapped in his own. The old man managed a weak smile, and then closed his eyes. Napoleon kissed the old man's hand, and then his forehead, his eyes damp.

"Goodbye, old friend. Sleep well. I will miss you."

The two sat silently, watching the old man sleeping, listening his increasingly feeble breathing, until, sometime later, the gentle rise and fall of his chest stopped. Napoleon gazed up at Illya, who checked the elderly man's neck for a pulse, then shook his head.

"I am so sorry, my friend. He is gone."

In the car, a little while later, Napoleon turned red-rimmed eyes on his partner.

"Thank you for coming, Illya."

"He seemed like a remarkable old man."

"He was like a father to me, Illya. I will miss that old man so much."

"I wish I could have known him."

Napoleon smiled at his friend.

"Perhaps that is why he gave you his book. He is in there. Read it and you will learn about him."

Illya smiled.

"I think we should read this book together."


End file.
